The Enterprise's Phantom
by Crysania
Summary: Crossover fic: ST: TNGPhantom of the Opera: Erik, Christine, and Raoul suddenly find themselves 500 years into the future and on the Enterprise! Please read and review! :


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The Enterprise's Phantom

Erik rounded on Christine, slicing through the air with one hand, his eyes pleading and threatening at the same time. Christine had never imagined such a combination before. How could he look so frightening and yet still have that "lost little boy" look in those mismatched eyes.  
  
He gripped her chin, tilting her face up to his, so that she had no choice but to look into the grotesque monstrosity that was his face. Christine shuddered, looking into those eyes, one silvery blue, the other the darkest black. He was going to kiss her. She knew he was going to. The shadows in his eyes softened, his lips began to tremble . . . And Christine's answered. Her eyes drifted downwards, lashes sweeping across her cheeks as they finally closed. As the moment stretched into infinity, she knew that _this _was what he had meant by "the point of no return."  
  
"No!" The cry came from behind Erik. _Raoul_.  
  
Erik's head shot up, turning away from Christine, breaking the tension between them. His shoulders stiffened, his posture becoming rigid once more. When he turned back to Christine, there was no sign of the passionate lover on his distorted countenance. Only the Phantom was left. Growling low in his throat, he said, "Start a new life with me. Your choice determines his freedom."  
  
Christine shook her head, which way to go. What was she to do? She moved further away from Erik, trying to come between the two adversaries.  
  
Erik reached out to grasp Christine's arm, to draw her away from her suitor. He watched in amazement as his hand, that beautiful, graceful extension of his arm, went right through her. He drew it, fluttering, back to his face, as if inspecting it would reveal what had happened. Drawing the long fingers across his brow, he wiped the sudden beads of perspiration that sprang up on his forehead. Could his imagination be this real? Was he truly capable of conjuring all of this? Don Juan Triumphant? Christine? _Raoul?_ Why on Earth (_or would Hell be more accurate_, he thought), would he conjure up Raoul into this mess? Surely if this was the result of his fevered imaginings, it would be he and Christine alone, and she would be confessing her love for him. Snorting derisively, he looked back at Christine.   
  
She stood rooted in place, her mouth opened in horror, and thrust her hand out towards Erik. He watched, his vision beginning to blur around the edges, as it went through his torso. A laugh erupted from his lips. If only he weren't transparent, Christine would have finally touched him of her own accord. As the blurred edges expanded, moving towards the middle, Erik realized that, at long last, he was dying. With this revelation, his laughter came again, echoing into the sudden silence that assailed his ears. This was it, he thought as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, landing at Christine's feet. He found his mask and wig there on the ground where she had dropped them, reveling in their safety. _At least I will die with some dignity_, he thought moments before he was propelled into the deepest darkness.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Geordi was headed to engineering, his spirits high. _Last night was unbelievable!_ He still couldn't believe his luck. Tara had actually _liked _him. Tara was charming, humourous, and incredibly beautiful. Their date had been perfect. Rounding the corner on deck 36, his spirits plummeted back to reality as he came across one of the strangest sights he had ever seen on the _Enterprise-D_.  
  
There, sprawled in the middle of the floor were the oddest three characters he had seen. The first one his eyes clung to took up the most space on the floor. It was a woman, dark-haired, trying unsuccessfully to regain her feet. She kept tripping over the huge folds and crevices of the dress she wore. Geordi was unable to tell exactly what she was wearing, but it appeared to be some sort of wedding gown, and an old one at that, judging by the composition of the fabric. A great veil adorned her head, nestling into her bountiful, curling tresses. The train on her dress must have been enormous, perhaps ten feet or more in length, he concluded by the way the fabric bunched at her feet and wound around her legs. As the woman turned her heart-shaped face to him, he realized she was quite petite, and that the dress flung out about her was what took up so much room.  
  
The woman's grey eyes met with the site of his VISOR, looked down at his uniform for a moment, before flitting around her. She quickly took in the two other individuals laying near her before looking at Geordi once again. Clearly confused, she finally stood to her full height. She spoke for a moment, and Geordi's universal translator made an attempt to translate. She was speaking some form of French, a very old form, probably over 500 years old.  
  
She reached out a hand toward him for a moment, obviously intent on touching his VISOR. She didn't get that far, for one of the men behind her gave a shout as he jumped to his feet. The man ran to her, shouting what was most likely her name.  
  
Geordi, frozen out of his shock for a moment, tapped his communicator. "LaForge to Riker...we have a very odd situation on deck 36..." He watched the woman's reaction as Riker's voice came from his communicator. She reached out and touched it for a moment, looking in absolute wonder at something that was quite common on the _Enterprise_. Then, quite suddenly, her lips began to tremble and her eyes rolled back in her head. She collapsed at Geordi's feet, falling unceremoniously to the ground. "LaForge to Crusher, possible medical emergency, deck 36..." Crusher acknowledged and Geordi bent down to see if he could help the young woman.  
  
The man that had woken up stared straight ahead, obviously not quite sure what was going on. He was dressed in a tight pair of black breeches and a loose-fitting white shirt, ripped down the middle to the waist. He wore no shoes and his feet were absolutely filthy. He obviously cared for the woman at his feet, but seemed quite incapable of doing anything at the moment with the exception of staring sightlessly around him and muttering, "What did that crazy monster do _this _time?" over and over in the same language that the young woman, Christine if he had heard him correctly, had spoken. He also heard the name, Erik, spoken several times in the middle of his muttering. He didn't know who this Erik was, but he gathered rather quickly that he and Raoul were _not _the best of friends.  
  
Geordi heard Crusher's voice behind him and quickly stepped out of the way so that she and her team could see to the woman. Crusher knelt down and placed a hand on Christine's shoulder, moving her slightly. The man snapped out of his seeming trance, moving much faster than Geordi could have anticipated, and grabbed Crusher by the arm. He pulled her roughly away from Christine, shouting at her the whole time. A member of the security team that had arrived with Crusher grabbed onto the frenzied man and hauled him backwards like a sack of potatoes. Crusher pulled out a hypospray and latched it onto his neck. Breathing a sigh of relief, Geordi watched as the man slumped backwards, caught by the security guard, and was placed onto an antigravity unit.  
  
Crusher turned back to her patient then, checking for signs of trauma. "She's fainted," she said, a slight smile playing about her lips, and motioned to her team to take her to sickbay for further observation.  
  
Then she moved to the last figure, the only one still unconscious. The man hadn't moved a muscle since Geordi had spotted them. He lay, sprawled out on the floor like the others, but face-down. He was dressed all in black, including a cloak of some sort. The rich fabric spilled out over his body in ebony waves. His reddish-brown hair was skewed in a strange way, almost as if it didn't quite fit his head right. One hand lay curled into a relaxed ball, thrown out to his side. The other was somewhere underneath the cloak, creating a raised bump. Crusher leaned over him, scanning him with her tricorder. She obviously found nothing wrong, for she made an attempt to turn him over.  
  
The man leaped to his feet, his movements graceful, tigerish. Half of his face was covered with a white mask, made of some sort of ancient leather. What could be seen of his face was grimacing, his eyes squinting into the artificial light. He balanced on the balls of his feet, braced for fleet movement if necessary. His eyes moved from person to person, settling on each for a just a moment. When Geordi's eyes met his, he realized that the man didn't need anymore time than a moment. His gaze stripped him to his very core and lay his soul bare to his penetrating stare. He could obviously size a person up in seconds, even less if necessary.  
  
Crusher made a movement towards him. The man backed up a pace, running his hands over his hair, seeming to twist it into place, balancing on the balls of his feet once again. "We won't hurt you," Crusher said, stepping closer again.  
  
The man's hands flew out from his body, the fingers splayed, graceful, fluttering in mid-air. Time slowed down. The man whirled ballet-like on his feet, turning swiftly, his cloak flying out about him, slicing the air with a note of finality. Then the man was gone, down the corridor before any of them could even move.  
_  
Who is this man?_ Geordi wondered, as he watched the security team dart after him. Sighing, he looked at Crusher. "I wish _I_ could have that affect on people."  
  
Crusher smiled at him for a moment, her eyes tracing the path the man had taken. "Don't we all."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Crusher started when a finger tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and looked at the young ensign standing there, and remembered what she was here for. Nodding, she turned to Geordi and said, "Get security down here to find that other man."  
  
Then she turned to her team and moved off down the hall with them. Geordi did as she bade, informing Lieutenant Worf, the head of security, of what had occurred. Worf ackowledged the hail and Geordi knew he would send people after the mystery man.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Christine awoke to a throbbing pain in her head, and the feeling that something was not quite right. Painfully she opened her eyes, the lashes clinging together and creating a great amount of resistance. As the bright light soared through her skull, she groaned.  
  
Crusher's head snapped up and she darted aross the room. "You're fine. You're on the_ Enterprise_."  
  
Christine shook her head. "Enterprise?" she asked, not knowing what the word meant. She gathered it was a ship of some kind, but why was she on a ship? The last thing she remembered was being in the cellar of the Opera House, with Erik. "Erik," she muttered. He had asked her to make a choice between him and Raoul. Then everything had turned strange. Erik had been transparent. She had reached out to touch him as he faded. Then all had gone dark.  
  
She opened her eyes, more gradually this time, and looked around her. She had never seen anything like that room. Even the most advanced hospitals didn't have this kind of equipment. _Where am I?_ And where was Erik? Where was Raoul?  
  
"How are you feeling?" Christine turned to look into the face of the red-haired woman. Shockingly, she was wearing pants, and very tight-fitting pants at that. Christine turned her head away, a blush working its way up her cheeks. Who was this woman that she could get away with wearing a man's trousers?  
  
"My head...it hurts..." The words that translated into Crusher's head were stilted, but recognizeable. She pulled out a hypospray and pressed it to the young woman's neck and was surprised when the little waif-like creature thrust her arm away with more strength than she would have expected.  
  
"It won't hurt you. It will make your head feel better." She smiled placidly at the nervous young woman, hoping her words were getting across. As soon as they had brought her to sickbay, they had her and her companion fitted for a universal translator. It was obvious they didn't speak English and wouldn't be able to converse without the aid of one. "Can you understand me?"  
  
Christine nodded.   
  
Crusher smiled again. "Good. What is your name?"  
  
After a moment, she responded to the gentle voice. "Christine Daaé." The name didn't sound familiar to Crusher at all. She wondered who this woman was, really. Where was she from? And, more importantly, how did she get on the Enterprise?  
  
"I have someone here who would like to talk to you..."  
  
"Raoul?" Christine started, the beginning of a radiant smile forming on her face.  
  
"No...one of my friends. I'd like you to meet Deanna Troi." Christine turned to see another young woman standing nearby. Christine adverted her eyes once more, for this woman was also wearing trousers. Her outfit was extremely tight-fitting, clinging to her shapely form and leaving almost nothing to imagination. The neckline plunged deep, leaving much of her cleavage exposed. Christine wasn't horribly shocked at that, for many women of high Parisian circles wore dresses with low necklines. But trousers? Again?  
  
"I don't understand what's going on," she muttered to the two women staring down at her.  
  
"Come with me," the woman named Deanna said to her, holding out one hand. "I'll help you."  
  
Christine stared up at her, eyes large. "What are you going to do to me?" She remembered what her father had once told her when she was quite young: _Trust no one_.  
  
"We're just going to talk," Deanna said with a smile, her hand still held out to the young woman. She knew she was nervous, scared, but there was something else that weighed heavily on this woman's mind. She had a strong feeling it had to do with at least one of the two men she had been found with.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Chief O'Brien yawned as his seventh hour on duty rolled around. It had been a slow night, with little activity occurring on the Enterprise. He had heard some strange rumour floating around about some mysterious character that had been spotted around the ship. All dressed in black and moving silently as a ghost, the specter had so far been seen near Ten-Forward, Hydroponics, and two of the science labs. Worf had informed him to be on the look-out for this strange person.  
  
As if anything ever happened in the transporter room. His shifts were usually dull, trapped in a tiny room, watching people arrive and leave for the entire eight hours he was on. To-day had proved no different so far.  
  
As he yawned once more, he was surprised to hear the doors to his tiny corner of the Enterprise whoosh open. His head shot up. No one was scheduled to leave at this hour.  
  
An extremely odd entity backed into the room. He was tall and slender, his body draped in black fabric, some sort of old-fashioned hat perched on his head. The ancient cloak he wore, brushed the floor lightly. His arms were thrown out from his body, the pale hands fluttering in mid-air. O'Brien watched him back further into the room before finally turning around to see what was around him.  
  
As soon as the man saw him, he threw his hands up over his face and fled the room. O'Brien was left with only one tiny glimpse of what appeared to be a white mask of some sort covering part of the man's face. He rushed after him, watching as the man careened down the corridor, the cloak floating gracefully out from his body as he made his escape. "Wait!" O'Brien called after the apparition, hoping to slow him down, to find out who he was.  
  
For a moment, he darted after him, but finally determined it was useless. Shaking his head on a sigh, he returned to his desolate post in Transporter Room 3. Almost as an afterthought, he informed Worf of the man's presence in his room and the direction he had gone in.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Erik moved noiselessly down corridors, creeping silently, no longer in such a headlong rush. His head still felt strangely fuzzy, his thoughts were anything but clear. _Where on Earth_ am _I? _he asked himself for what must have been the hundredth time in the past couple hours. He had quickly assessed the situation when the red-haired woman had awoken him. There was no doubt that somehow, he had been thrown forward in time. How far, he did not know, but judging by the level of the technology he had thus far encountered, he knew it must have been quite far.  
  
His next thoughts had been of where Christine was. When the temporal disturbance had occurred, she had been with him, standing quite close to him if he remembered correctly. _No, wait_. That had been a figment of his fevered imagination, hadn't it been? He slowed for a moment, trying so very hard to bring his tangled thoughts into focus. Christine had been there. _Yes_. He was not wrong in that. But Raoul had been there too. He remembered that as well, and more clearly than he wished. Raoul had interfered, coming to take away Christine, _Erik's _Christine. _Raoul, that obnoxious twit_. He had caught him up in his lasso, strung him up like he so richly deserved, that handsome, _wretched _boy.  
  
Erik paused in his frightened trek through this enormous dwelling. Christine was told to make a choice, and then...there was nothing. _Nothing_. He had woken up surrounded by these beings from the future, not sure of himself or his surroundings.  
  
And then he had fled, running from them. There had been so many people watching him, so many curious eyes. He still felt the sting from them, the leaping of his heart as the woman took a step closer to him, hands outstretched. What did they want of him, these strange people, dressed in such odd clothing? Surely, in the future they would leave him alone. Or was he to be as shunned now as he was in his own time?  
  
Erik's first thought upon fleeing the scene was to simply get as far away from people as he possibly could. It seemed, however, that no matter where he went, no matter which way he turned, there were more people. Every room he walked into was occupied. Some by very few. One had housed plants of every variety. He had stood inside the door, utterly amazed by the jungle before him. How did it thrive inside, with no natural light? Were these some sort of hybrid fauna, ones that could remain inside with artificial light and still remain alive? He reached out to touch one large leaf, feeling the heft of it resting in his palm, stroking the smooth surface of the plant. A feeling of crushing weight struck his heart. These plants would never flinch from him; they allowed him to touch them, to caress their silky leaves. He remained with the plants for as long as he was able. A voice had come to him, speaking a form of English, asking if he needed help. His head shot up, not to find a woman as he expected to find, but rather, a strange, blue-skinned creature, with, dare he think it, antennae protruding from her rather prominent forehead. His eyes studied her for a moment, finding a strange kind of beauty in her, and then bowed slightly before exiting the lab.  
  
Once outside, he had sought shelter elsewhere, finally walking into a room he should have avoided at all costs. It seemed to be some sort of meeting place, for there were many people sitting at tables and talking, and some seated at a bar, ordering drinks and food. _Is this a restaurant? _he wondered.  
  
"May I help you?" a dark-skinned woman, wearing the strangest hat he had ever seen, asked him. His eyes focused on her for a moment, before turning and striding out into the hallway once again.  
  
Then there had been the most recent encounter with one of the people in the building. Another occupied room, another questioning person, asking if he needed something. All in all, he was rather surprised at the general acceptance of him. No one had shrunk back in horror from his face. _Then again_, he thought, reaching up to feel the mask, _Christine never looked at you in horror until she had seen your face either_. He sighed in frustration. _Christine, why? Why did you do it?_ What possibly could have been her motive in unmasking him before all of Paris? It wasn't an accident, he was sure of it. He wondered if that _boy _had made her do it. Surely his Christine would never do something so awful to him as that! Shaking his head ruefully, he pushed such thoughts from his mind and moved on. _Shelter, I must find shelter_.  
  
After what surely must have been two or three hours of wandering the building, Erik finally discovered a room where no one seemed to be. It was darkened, which he appreciated, and contained his first glimpse of a window. It appeared that it was nighttime here, and what a night it was! The stars were out in their full glory. It was obvious the building they were in was alone where ever it was.  
  
Treading lightly, Erik crossed the room to look out the window into the darkened sky, studying the stars that blazed at him from their vantage point hundreds, perhaps millions, of kilometers away. Suddenly, Erik felt his eyes drawn downward, and ever further downward. Where was the ground, where was the Earth? He took a step back from the window, feeling suddenly dizzy. He had never been afraid of heights before, but that had been when he could see the ground. There was no ground here, none at all. There was just air and space. "Mon Dieu," he whispered. They were in space, and Earth was nowhere to be seen.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
Deanna led a sullen Christine down corridor after corridor. Every once in awhile, she looked back at the woman she had been left in charge of. She was still such a child, Deanna noted, most likely not too much older than 18 or 19. It was obvious she viewed the world with that childlike wonder that was usually bred out of humanity by that age. Her pale grey eyes flitted from place to place, person to person, always searching and never finding what it was she was looking for.  
  
Finally, Deanna walked into her rooms, the door sliding open with a slight whooshing sound. Christine jumped backwards slightly and Deanna could feel the confused fear assailing the frail girl.  
  
"It's nothing to be frightened of, Christine," she said. "The doors sense our presence and open for us on this ship. This particular door recognizes me by an almost unperceived retinal scan. Since this is my room, the doors open automatically."  
  
Christine nodded, trying to pretend she truly understood what this odd woman was saying. In actuality, about the only things she completely comprehended was her name and the word door. The rest were, well, words. Some she recognized, others she had never heard before. Most of what had been told to her since she awoke in this strange place was garbled nonsense to her ears.  
  
Deanna indicated a plush chair and watched as Christine gingerly sat down, as if it might jump up and attack her at any moment. Turning from her newest patient, Deanna smiled slightly. Beverly had told her to find out whatever she could about this Christine Daaé. No one could understand how she had come to be on this ship, nor who she was. A search in the ship's directory of all humans had turned up only one match to that name. There had been a Christine Daaé born during the 19th century in what was formerly Sweden. She had lived in Paris for a time and had been touted as the next great diva of the Paris Opera House. She had sung the lead in Chalumeau's opera _Hannibal_. It was a great joke of an opera, but at the time it had been new, a sort of novelty. Christine's singing of the part of Elissa, the soprano lead, at a moment's notice when the former diva, Carlotta Giudicelli had thrown some sort of fit, had brought great acclaim to the young singer. It was also known that her singing had brought her the adoration of two very different men. One was the nobleman, Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, a great patron of the arts and a man that was known to be Christine's childhood friend. The other was a mysterious, rather shady figure, one whom little was known about. He was known only as "The Phantom of the Opera" or the "Opera Ghost". For a time, Christine knew him as her Angel of Music, before she finally discovered this Angel was a man. And one who was deeply in love with Christine. So much so that he wrote an entire opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_, for her and then killed the lead to take his place during the most seductive duet of the performance.  
  
Christine, however, unmasked him before the entire audience and in a fit of rage, the Phantom dragged her away and down to his lair. It is believed that Raoul de Chagny went after them, for the three of them disappeared and were never seen again. Never, that is, until now. Deanna had no doubt that the woman sitting uncomfortably in her favourite chair was the same Christine Daaé of said incidents. There were too many coincidences. For one, she had appeared with two men. One was a young, handsome man, another innocent who was as dumbstruck as she was by their predicament. The other was, according to Beverly, completely dressed in black and wearing a mask. As soon as he awoke, he must have felt cornered by them all, for he had fled. Several hours later, the man was _still _missing on the ship. He was obviously quite adept at alluding people.  
  
"Would you like something to drink, Christine? Hot chocolate, perhaps?" Deanna always found that chocolate calmed people down, and especially hot chocolate. She was surprised when Christine's nose crinkled up and she waved one delicate hand.  
  
"No, no chocolate. Do you have water?" Deanna was struck by how musical her voice was, even when it was hoarse and incredibly hesitant, this girl's voice held command in it. It was easy to see how she had become a great singer. There was no doubt in Deanna's mind that this girl had been born with music in her soul.  
  
Turning back to the replicator, she requested a mug of hot cocoa and a glass of cold water and then returned to hand the water to Christine.  
  
The girl took it gratefully, sipping at it with obvious trepidation. When she discovered it truly was nothing but water, she seemed to relax a little. Deanna nodded and smiled at her, not even sure exactly where to start with this one.  
  
"Christine, tell me something. What year were you born?" It was the best opening she could find to see if this woman truly was from the past.  
  
Slightly startled, Christine's head shot up and looked into Deanna's eyes. "1861," she answered, a questioning note entering her voice.   
  
"Hmmm...I was a afraid of that. There is...a lot...I need to tell you that is not going to be easy to accept..." Deanna went on to explain the truth of her situation, as far as she could see it. The longer she talked, the wider Christine's eyes got. When she finally leaned back in her chair and waited for a reaction, the young singer turned her gaze away from her and directed it downwards.  
  
"I...am no longer in Paris, then?" Deanna shook her head sadly. "And Raoul? He is here, too. In, what did you call it? Sickbay?" Deanna nodded. "Is he injured?"  
  
"No...he was hysterical. When he saw you crumpled on the ground and Dr. Crusher going to assist you, he tried to attack her. They had no choice but to administer a drug to him that would knock him unconscious for a time. He is resting peacefully in sickbay."  
  
Christine sat back and tried to understand all that had been told to her in the last few minutes. She had been, somehow, thrown into the future. And not just a few years ahead of her time, but, rather, nearly 500 years into the future. She was on a ship, but this one didn't ride across the ocean. It was in the sky, up with the stars. Paris was nowhere near her, nor was Earth even. According to Deanna, she was even far beyond the planets she _did _know of, like Venus and Mars. It was just so much to accept so quickly. Would she ever get back to her own time, to complete what had been started there?  
  
"There was another man with you, Christine..." Deanna's words interrupted her thoughts abruptly. "All dressed in black, wearing a mask..."  
  
Christine's head shot up. "Erik is here, too? Where?"  
  
Deanna was right. There were emotions broiling somewhere in this young woman's heart for this Erik. She sensed something simmering, love perhaps, yet mixed with a sharp fear of him. "He is loose on the ship, somewhere. No one has been able to catch him yet."  
  
She watched Christine smile slightly. "That is Erik. He lived for years in the opera house and no one knew of where. Most people thought him a ghost. He may never be found on this ship."  
  
"He will. They'll figure out where he is eventually." Deanna knew it was only a matter of time before this man was caught. She admitted that he was certainly resourceful, for he had managed to allude all attempts at capture. It was incredibly impressive for someone who had suddenly been transported into the 24th century from the 19th. The man had never even seen an automobile or an airplane, much less something of the technological advancement the Enterprise possessed.  
  
Christine leaned forward and grasped Deanna's hand, the desperation she suddenly felt quite clear. "Erik is a dangerous man. You much warn them. He...has a weapon, a device called a Punjab lasso. More than one man has met his death at his hands. Tell them...if they hold their hand to the level of their eyes, they will be protected from it." Deanna hesitated. "_Tell them_," Christine insisted.  
  
Deanna reluctantly did as she bade, understanding that Christine meant every word of what she had just said. "Christine, the reason I brought this man up is that I want to discuss him with you."  
  
"What is there to discuss?" Christine asked.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Erik remained in the darkened room, staring out the window for some time, willing himself to adjust to being in space. This should be something that wasn't difficult for him to accept. There had always been a part of him that wished to leave Earth for some other place, some place where he would be accepted as he was, where people wouldn't point, wouldn't call him "monster". He knew there had to be some such place, some place where people weren't judged by appearances. He sincerely hoped that here, obviously far into the future, he would be accepted as a person. No doubt there would be a great amount of catching up in the areas of science and medicine. Was it possible for him to adjust to his new surroundings, to accept such technological advancements as normal? And what of music? What had happened to his precious opera in the intervening years? Had it been lost somewhere in the midst of time, or had the public come to eventually accept it? There was a good chance it was simply sitting in the archives of the Opera House, gathering dust. There was also an equally good chance that, after the first disastrous performance, the music had been destroyed...  
  
When the doors slid open to admit another person, Erik was instantly on guard. He sought to hide himself within the shadows, shrinking his body to make it seem as if he weren't really there.  
  
"There is no need to leave." The man spoke to him, his deep timbre soothing to the ears. Like the others on board the vessel, this one spoke a form of English. However, his voice was tinted with a French accent. Surprised, Erik began to speak in French to the newcomer.  
  
"You are French?" he asked him, hoping his language wasn't too out of date.  
  
The man laughed slightly and responded in French. "Of course."  
  
Erik had no idea why the man laughed, but it felt quite good to hear his native tongue spoken here, far away from Earth, and so very far from his own time. "As am I. I am from...Rouen, though I spent much of my life abroad, in Persia, and the Orient, before settling in Paris."  
  
"Persia?" the man asked. "That is an old name for Iran." Erik started. Had the name of the country changed in these many years? It would appear so.  
  
"I know the country only as Persia," he stated, splaying his hands out in front of him. "I was not aware the name had changed. Iran, you say? Odd, indeed. I spent many years there as a servant of the Shah."  
  
The other man remained quiet for a time before continuing the conversation. "I lived all of my life in France, before joining StarFleet. It is a beautiful country. There are times I miss it very much."  
  
Erik snorted. "The country was not so beautiful to me." Then, as an afterthought he said, "Allow me to amend that. The underground of the country is not so beautiful. I have spent the last several years of my life in one building, living on the far side of an underground lake. I have been buried below the pale of humanity for as long as I can remember. Others did not want to see me...I do not want to see myself, either." He clenched one hand into a fist and slammed it into the window, glad to find how resilient the glass was. There was not even a dent in it from the violence he had just inflicted upon it.  
  
"An underground lake?" the other man asked, sounding slightly puzzled.  
  
"In L'Opera Garnier, the Paris Opera House," Erik stated. "There is a lake at the very bottom of that immense structure. That is where I make my home."  
  
"The lake was drained hundreds of years ago," the other man said. "I am afraid I don't understand."  
  
Erik stiffened. "Drained? The lake is gone? But how? Why?" The lake, gone. His home? What had happened to it? There was every chance it had now been discovered. There was no way he could return to it if he found himself stuck in this strange time.  
  
"The structure was collapsing, I believe. In order to fortify it, the lake was drained and the foundation strengthened. They found the most remarkable thing there in between the outer and inner layers of the foundation. Apparently, years ago, someone had lived there. It was obviously very old and had not been used in hundreds of years. It was believed to have possibly dated back to the first 50 years after the Opera House had been built..."  
  
"It was before that," Erik sighed. "The house was created when the building was." The other man reached out a hand and grasped Erik's upper arm.  
  
"That was your home, wasn't it?"  
  
Erik pulled away with a quiet cry. _Leave me alone!_ With quick assuredness, he moved from the man and fled out the door. This wasn't happening. His home, discovered? People had tread through it, found things that were so very dear to him. Had they found Christine's room, where he kept all her things? The garments he had touched over and over again, imagining they were her and not just a piece of fabric.   
  
Blindly, he fled down the corridor, one hand out in front of him, the pain crushing him beneath its uncaring weight. Where to go? What to do?  
  
With a sigh, Jean-Luc Picard watched the man's crazy progress down the corridor. So, he was the mysterious "Phantom of the Opera", the being that haunted the Paris Opera House all those years ago. Shaking his head, he was unsure of what exactly to do. His only recourse was to inform Worf of the general direction the man had fled in and hope that, when he was captured, no real injury was brought to him.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Deanna sighed. This was _not _going to be an easy thing for this young woman to discuss. Women of her era had been treated almost as second-class citizens. _Find a husband, have children_. This Christine had at least found a career for herself, but even Deanna knew that  
she had been surely looked down upon by the nobility. A form of entertainment, both  
onstage and off.  
  
"Christine," Deanna said, leaning forward, one hand reaching out to lightly touch the other  
woman's hand. "I think there's a great deal to discuss."  
  
Christine shook her head. No...She did not want to talk about Erik, to bring anything of  
him to this conversation. It was a frightening subject, one which had confused her for so  
long that she had no idea of her feelings anymore.  
  
"I am here to listen, Christine. I am a counselor. Do you know what that means?" Back  
in Christine's time, counseling had not been a career. Psychologists had been looked upon  
as "quacks". If someone had a problem, they either solved it themselves or ended up in an  
institution. Deanna shuddered. What could that have been like? No corrective  
medication, no corrective surgery, no understanding. It truly must have been horrible.  
  
"No," Christine answered frankly. _A counselor?_ Like so many of the words her  
companion had uttered, it was complete nonsense. Normally when she had heard the  
word counsel, it had to do with legal matters. A horrifying thought suddenly struck her.   
Did Deanna already know of Erik's crimes? The death of Buquet? Of Señor Piangi? The  
kidnapping and extortion?  
  
Suddenly bounding up from the chair, Christine made an attempt to leave. If Deanna  
attempted to put Erik on trial, he would kill her as he had the others.  
  
"Christine!" Deanna shouted and went after, gripping her arm lightly, yet firmly, and  
pulling her back towards the chairs. "I have no idea what just made you flee, but I could  
sense your overwhelming fear." Christine looked blankly at her. "Please...sit. There is  
nothing to be afraid of here. Allow me to begin again. My name is Deanna Troi. I'm a  
counselor, and I'm here to help you."  
  
"Help me?" Christine's voice was timid, frightened but hopeful. Deanna could sense her  
relaxing and smiled.  
  
"Yes, help you. Your emotions are a tangled mess. It's obvious something both terrible  
and wonderful has happened to you recently, something you most likely can't handle well.   
We need to talk about it, bring it forward so that we can set you on the proper road."  
  
Christine smiled, the expression shy, and looked at her feet. She didn't quite understand  
everything Deanna was trying to tell her, but it was obvious the woman wasn't here to  
hurt her._ I can relax_. I can talk. The words came into her mind and she suddenly  
realized this could be beneficial for her. Deanna could help her...Yes. She could tell her  
what to do, who to turn to. Sweet Raoul, her childhood friend, the romantic young  
nobleman who seemed to love her so much. Or Erik, her dark Angel of Music, in so much  
pain and anguish, who would gladly die for her. The two men in her life, so very different.   
"I...I don't know where to start..." she whispered.  
  
"Start from the beginning," Deanna said with a smile. She could sense that Christine was  
at last ready to talk about all the problems plaguing her and the emotions attached to  
them. "That's probably the best."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Erik reached another intersection. Where to go now? Up? Down? Right? Left? The  
choices were endless. The ship he was on was enormous. If he wasn't discovered, he  
could quite possibly live in these tiny shafts forever.  
  
When he had first fled from the room with the Frenchman in it, he had ended up in a place  
filled with people who looked like they were on official business. For a short time, no one  
had even noticed he was there. They moved around him, intent on whatever chores they  
might have to accomplish.  
  
Transfixed by being just one in a crowd, he had moved further into the area. No one had  
noticed him! How was it possible? The mask, surely they would have seen the mask and  
run screaming from him! _Mais non_...They had just stepped around him and continued on.  
  
Finally, though, it had to happen. The dark-skinned man he had seen earlier upon first  
awakening, the one wearing some strange device over his eyes, had nearly walked into  
him. The man's head had shot up, his hidden eyes presumably meeting with Erik's.   
"You...you're the one from..." He had taken a step towards Erik, a hand reaching out to  
grab him.  
  
With quiet efficiently, Erik had stepped back and turned to flee. There had been more  
behind him, their eyes falling on him at last, radiating confusion and something else he  
couldn't quite identify. With a cry of rage, he had looked around him. Trapped? No!   
He couldn't be. There had appeared to be no escape, but he must, he had to get away.  
  
His eyes had fallen on a ladder not more than a meter to his left. It had been the only way.   
And so he had run for it, climbing up as fast he could. People had pursued, he had heard  
the shouts, the sounds of scampering up him. But he had eluded them, crawling through  
endless shafts, making turns, moving from one level to another.  
  
And now he found himself here, one more choice to make. He didn't want to, though.   
He had been running around, hiding, for what seemed like ages. And he was tired...so  
tired.  
  
At long last, he sat down to rest, to decide what his next move should be. Could he hide  
forever on this ship? Unsure, he leaned back and closed his eyes, knowing he needed to  
remain on guard. Just like through the rest of his life, he wasn't safe. Even here, far into  
the future, his life could be forfeit in seconds if caught.   
  
Where was Christine? he suddenly wondered. Had they taken her, and that boy as well?   
She was safe now, away from his horrendous clutches, the monster he had become. What  
had I been thinking? He shook his head as the memories of what he had done to his  
beautiful Christine came forcefully to his mind. He had kidnapped her! Taken her  
forcefully from the stage and down to his lair. What would he have done to her if Raoul  
had not made his presence known when he had? His temper had been so fierce, so  
overwhelming. Losing control like that had been perhaps the worst thing he could have  
done at that moment. _But what else was left to me?_ Christine surely would have left him  
to die if he had let her go. Why couldn't she love him? _Because you are a monster,  
Erik..._  
  
His head suddenly shot up. _What was that?_ He heard noises, coming from somewhere in  
the same corridor. _Who...What...?_ Had they found him? With great fear, he turned and  
looked to his left. His heart lept, the pulse going erratic. A strange being, a man of some  
sorts, dark-skinned and with strange protrusions on his forehead, was coming towards  
him, shouting in a guttural language he couldn't understand. With little thought, he turned  
in the other direction to flee.  
  
It was not to be however. Another man was coming from that direction. _Trapped_...   
"No!" Erik shouted, the word echoing off the walls of the tiny shaft. It was not possible.   
After nearly fifty years of avoiding such a situation, how could it happen? How could they  
have found him?  
  
He looked at the other man, the light reflecting off his unnaturally pale skin and golden  
eyes. This would be the end of his life. He couldn't possibly kill both men in such  
confined quarters, but one would die at his hands this day. They would know that he was  
a dangerous man.   
  
Pulling out his trusted Punjab Lasso, he fingered the thin, strong rope. With beautifully  
timed accuracy, he flung it out, watching as it hung in mid-air, his splendid instrument of  
death, for a moment before catching around the man's neck. Quickly tightening his wrist,  
he pulled the lasso tight around his neck, knowing it would be only moments before he  
was dead.  
  
The man, however, looked calmly at him, his strange golden eyes focused calmly on Erik.   
"Sir, I am afraid this will do nothing to me." Erik looked on in shock as the other man  
easily snapped the sturdy rope. It had failed him...How? He had killed countless men  
with it and nothing like this had ever occurred. Fright such as he had never known  
overtook him, hands shaking, eyes clouding over, heart nearly stopping. What did it  
mean?  
  
Numbly, he felt something press up against his neck and heard a hissing sound. _This must  
be how they kill people in the future_, he thought, his vision dimming, the world around  
him becoming blessedly dark. It was over...At long last, his life had come to an end. With  
Christine's name upon his lips, he fell forward into long sought-after darkness.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Deanna remained silent all through Christine's long and twisted tale. How had the woman  
endured such things and remained sane? Her mother's death at a young age. Her father's  
later. Then the Angel, who turned out to be Erik, and Raoul, her childhood friend, the  
arrogant young nobleman who insisted her marry her.  
  
As Christine finished with the scene at Erik's home far beneath the Paris Opera House,  
Deanna leaned back, contemplating all that she had learned. Not much was certain, except  
two things. When Christine mentioned Erik's name, there was this strange twinge in her  
emotions, a sadness and something else completely undefinable. Love? Perhaps, but there  
was more to it than simply love. When the young girl thought of Raoul, however, all she  
could sense from her was frustration, and a small amount of wistfulness.  
  
"Christine, tell me something," Deanna said, looking up at her, noting the wide, tear-filled  
eyes. "What, exactly, do you feel for this Raoul de Chagny? You said he wants you to  
marry him. Do_ you_ want to marry him?"  
  
The young woman looked away from her, biting her lower lip in a nervous gesture.   
"I...I...don't know. He has done so much for me, sacrificed so much. I...Perhaps I owe  
him that much."  
  
"You owe him nothing," Deanna said, taking Christine's cold hand in her own. "Nothing,  
do you hear me?"  
  
"He's my friend," she whispered, the words almost not heard by Deanna.  
  
"And that's all?" Deanna sighed. She knew she spoke the truth with that one. She could  
feel Christine's gratefulness as the young woman nodded. So what about the other? This  
Erik...the Phantom...the Opera Ghost...And whatever other store of aliases the apparently  
enigmatic man went by. "Good...So we know about one of the men. What about Erik?"   
There it was, that odd twinge again as Christine heard his name. Those two mixed  
emotions. Love and...?  
  
"Erik? He...frightens me," she said quietly, the words choked, as if she could barely get  
them out. "And yet he...fascinates me. He was my Angel, my only friend when I came to  
Paris. He used to talk to me for hours when he was the Angel, telling me of the goings-on  
in the Opera House, and of strange worlds I had never been to. He would sing to me. His  
voice, Deanna! I had never heard such a voice. It's no wonder I thought him an Angel of  
Music, for he sang as I had heard no one else sing. Majestic...beautiful..." She paused  
and Deanna could sense that she had come to some sort of revelation. "When he took me  
below and I found out who he was, he stopped singing to me. And he rarely talked to me,  
except in anger. He was always so focused on Raoul, and what I was doing with him.   
He..."  
  
"What?" Deanna asked, knowing the crucial moment was coming up, when Christine  
would find out what she was feeling for Erik. If she could just get her to continue, she  
would know everything, and she would never feel as if Deanna forced her to the  
conclusion.  
  
"I...I don't know." Christine's brow furrowed in concentration. Something was wrong.   
Terribly wrong. But what? "Deanna...would you find it odd if I said I think I miss hearing  
him sing? And that I miss hearing of the world through his eyes?"  
  
"No, Christine, I wouldn't. He sounds like an interesting man."  
  
"Oh he is!" Christine exclaimed, and for the first time since Deanna had met the young  
woman, her eyes came alive. Yes...definitely love.  
  
As Christine continued talking, her words coming fast and furious, Deanna just simply  
listened, waiting for the inevitable moment to come, when it all came out. She knew  
Christine's knowledge of her own love for this man was brimming just below the surface,  
eating away at any walls she had erected around her heart.   
  
All of a sudden, Christine stopped talking, her eyes widening, the grey orbs staring intently  
at Deanna. Her jawed moved up and down, nothing coming out but a small squeak. The  
moment had come and it looked like the young woman was _not _accepting the discovery  
too well.  
  
"Christine, listen to me," Deanna said, looking intently into the other woman's nearly  
blank eyes. "Despite what you may have been told, despite this man's deformity, despite  
it all, it is _all right_ to love him."  
  
Christine's shoulder slumped, all the energy draining out of her at once. As the tears  
began to flow, she leaned forward towards Deanna. "Oh _Mon Dieu_," Deanna heard her  
say. "What have I done? _What have I done?_"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Jean-Luc, please," Crusher pleaded once more. The man was stubborn, to put it as   
mildly as she could imagine. "This man _needs _us." It would be so easy to correct the  
man's deformity. What had been unrepairable damage in the 19th century, was easily  
correctable in the 24th.  
  
"Beverly..." That warning note was creeping into his voice again. "The prime  
directive..."  
  
"Doesn't apply here," she finished. "It's obvious he's had a difficult life because of this.   
Think of how they would view him in his own time. Surely, if we corrected this minor  
deformity, he could lead his life the way he should have." She stood up straight, standing  
slightly taller than her commanding officer. She would do this, with or without his  
permission, for she felt it was the ethical thing to do. But she wanted his permission. It  
was just something that would always bother her if she didn't get it.  
  
"Beverly..." he said again, the warning note still there. "You know..."  
  
"That we have to do this," she said, cutting him off again. "Jean-Luc..." The warning  
note was now in her voice. Their eyes met, wills clashing. The rest looked on, not  
disturbed in the least. This was a common occurrence in Sickbay. Dr. Crusher wanted  
one thing. Captain Picard wanted another. They had seen it so often that it was just  
second nature to ignore it. They all knew who would win anyway.  
  
Finally, at long last, Picard looked away with a sigh. The confrontation was over. "Do  
what you feel you must," he said and strode out the door. With a small smile, Crusher  
turned back to the others in the room.  
  
"Well, that was easier than I thought..." The nurses around her broke up, preparing  
without question for the upcoming surgery. Crusher looked at her patient. The man was  
still unconscious from the hypospray Worf had administered to him nearly an hour ago.   
Perhaps it was better this way. He hadn't been awake when they removed the mask,  
hadn't felt her hands as Crusher examined the disfigurement. It seemed he had been born  
that way, for there was no evidence of injury. _The poor man_. What must he have gone  
through during his life? Picard had related his discovery as soon as the man had been  
brought to sickbay. The mysterious "Phantom of the Opera" had appeared on the  
Enterprise. Apparently, the man had lived beneath the Paris Opera House for many years,  
undiscovered. That couldn't have been healthy either physically or emotionally for him.  
  
With a smile, she turned to her assistants and began issuing orders.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Christine held onto Deanna's hand, crushing the woman's fingers in her own surprisingly  
strong grip. This was it. What would she tell Erik? What _could _she tell Erik? How  
would he treat her, now that she had finally begun to understand all her tangled emotions?   
With a sigh, she stood up straighter, pulling herself up to steel herself for the upcoming  
confrontation, getting ready to tell him her true feelings.  
  
She felt more relaxed now than she had a mere couple hours ago. Deanna had comforted  
her as she had cried out all the frustration of the past several months. She hadn't mocked  
her for believing in the Angel; she hadn't been angry at her for admitting she didn't love  
Raoul as he wanted her to. Everyone she knew in Paris would have expected her to be  
overjoyed at Raoul's obvious adoration of her. But, well, she had had a hard time  
accepting it. Now she knew why. It was Erik...It was _always _Erik.  
  
After her bout of crying, after she came to her senses, Deanna offered her something  
called a Hot Fudge Sundae, a wonderful concoction mixing vanilla and chocolate, hot and  
cold, and whipped cream. It was utterly delicious and Christine had eaten every last bit of  
it, even going so far as to lick the bowl. She had laughed with Deanna, for the first time in  
a long time.  
  
Finally, though, Deanna had said the one thing she was afraid she would say. "You have  
to tell him."  
  
And so she was here, on her way to Sickbay, where Erik apparently was, ready to tell him  
her feelings, ready to bare her soul to the one man who could crush her completely.  
  
"Deanna, I can't do this..." she said, as the doors whooshed open and she saw Erik seated  
on a table, Crusher standing before him with a huge smile on her face.  
  
"You have to," Deanna said, and pushed Christine towards him. "This is it. You know  
how you feel and he needs to know."  
  
Christine took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Finally nodding, she let go of Deanna's  
hands and walked to Erik. With each step, her eyes lowered further and further, finally  
coming to rest on his feet. It was easier this way. She didn't have to see the look in his  
eyes. Well, at least not at first. Why she was so frightened of telling him, she didn't  
know. She already knew how he felt about her. He had proclaimed his love for her over  
and over again. But, somehow, this was such a big step. It was a move towards the rest  
of her life. She was about to wrap herself up, forever, within Erik's world. It meant living  
underground, away from humanity, rarely surfacing to see friends, acquaintances. Her life  
would be so drastically altered, she wouldn't recognize it as her own ever again.  
  
"Erik," she whispered, eyes still downcast, heart pumping furiously. "I know I've created  
countless problems. I know I've hurt you again and again. I've been a terrible person and  
for that there is no forgiveness..."  
  
"Christine..." That beautiful, melodious voice. It sounded hesitant now, quiet and not as  
commanding as the last time she had heard it. The note of desperation was gone, which  
was surely beneficial.  


"Please, don't speak. I need to say this or I know I never will. When you first took me to  
your home, I was shocked, dismayed to find out my Angel was a man. Father had  
promised me the Angel and, in truth, he never came. I didn't know what to do, nor how  
to react properly. I was ungrateful and too curious. And for that, I apologize. Erik...I  
realized to-day that, though you are not a real Angel, in way, you are an Earthly one. You  
saved me from myself, when no one else could. You drew me away from my dark  
depression and gave me hope. I know I've been confused, frightened, and horribly distant  
with you. I've run around the Opera House with Raoul, never once stopping to think of  
you, nor of my own feelings. I've always done what was expected of me. But no  
more...Erik...I do not want to go with Raoul. I don't want to marry him..."  
  
"You..."  
  
"No...do not speak. Erik...I realized something else to-day. Something strange,  
something wonderful, a life-changing something..." Why was she drawing this out, why  
couldn't she say the words she needed to, the words she knew Erik desperately needed to  
hear. "Erik...I love you. I always have. I always will." She rushed on, the words picking  
up momentum like a rock rolling down a steep hill. She had already plunged over the cliff,  
what else could she say? "I...want to live with you, even it means cutting myself off from  
the rest of humanity. I will sacrifice that much. Erik..."  
  
Christine finally looked up at him. His face was averted from her, his eyes now downcast.   
She could see the tears leaking from the one eye she could see. "Christine...I...don't know  
what to say...Is it all true?" She nodded and Erik turned his head to look at her.  
  
Shock rippled through every nerve in her body as his eyes bored into hers. Erik? Was it  
truly him? His face was in perfect symmetry, the lines and curves of the left side  
beautifully imitated on the right. Where there had once been scars, only pale skin  
remained, beautiful, healthy skin. His hair was obviously now his own, no more the wig  
he once wore, for it was slightly lighter and more natural-looking, the highlights a bit more  
reddish, the other locks darker. His eyes were the same, though, the colours still  
asymmetrical. It was still Erik looking out at her from this new face. No...not new...for  
the left side was exactly as she had always remembered it. It was simply that the right  
looked as the left did...Perfect...  
  
"How is this possible?" she whispered, unable to take her eyes off him.   
  
"Modern medicine can do amazing things," Crusher said from somewhere behind her.   
Christine just nodded, completely speechless.  
  
"Christine?" Erik asked, his voice shy, quiet.  
  
"Erik...I..." There were no more words, nothing she could say to describe her feelings.   
This was what Erik had always wanted. Though it would certainly not wipe away the  
years of pain and suffering he had endured, it would help him build a new life. Perhaps  
even here in the future. Finally, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on his lips, the  
tingling sensation shooting straight from the point of contact to areas throughout her  
entire body. She had made the right choice and she had never been so sure of it as she  
was in that moment.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
_Where are they now?_  
  
Erik and Christine did indeed get married. After some amount of time acclimating  
themselves to the new century (a process Erik thoroughly enjoyed), they toured the  
universe performing on various planets. They're fame is such that they are sought after in  
all corners of the known, and even the unknown, universe. Everywhere they go, they are  
met with great hospitality, something Erik will always delight in. It has been said that the  
power of their love, combined with the beauty of their Angels' voices, has the power to  
heal broken hearts.  
  
Upon waking up, Raoul discovers nothing is as it was. He is no longer in Paris, no longer  
a member of the nobility. Christine is with Erik and he knows he has lost her for good.   
Distraught at what had happened to his life, he turns to the one person who offers to help:   
Deanna Troi. Months later, after a slow and arduous process of getting used to his new  
life, Raoul proposes to Deanna and she, showing similar intelligence to Christine, turns him down.

  



End file.
